


Can't sleep

by LeHawkeye



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Concussions, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, No Slash, Sleep Deprivation, Smoking, Whump, will add characters and tags as the story goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:05:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeHawkeye/pseuds/LeHawkeye
Summary: Clint and insomnia go way back.Sometimes he does everything in his power to escape sleeping. Sometimes, no matter how many times he twists and turns, he simply can't. fucking. sleep. Sometimes he wakes from nightmares, shaking and hyperventilating. Most times Phil is scolding him for taking such poor care of himself.





	1. Stay Awake

**Author's Note:**

> This work is written off of these prompts: https://ysande-jin.tumblr.com/post/163326643039/whump-prompts-sleep-edition
> 
> It's been a long while since I've written anything, so mistakes will occur.  
> But I still hope you enjoy this. Thank you.

A character who’s so exhausted his hands are trembling, his eyes are dull/unfocused, he’s starting to hallucinate… and his team needs him to stay awake

\-----

The slap stings his cheek and startles him awake, his whole body jerking away and eyes snapping open. He flinches when his back slams into the wall he’d been sitting against before. He frowns and glares at the familiar figure who’s crouched down in front of him, scowling at him. There’s tension in Coulson’s jaw and a tiny vein pulsing on his neck that only shows when he’s concerned. 

They’re running on the 48th hour of this mission, whereas everything went FUBAR about 7 hours ago. One of the junior agents and two of the seniors got killed, and half of the rest were injured. At least the others made it out to the extraction point. His head hurts, his head feels like a thousand bombs going off at once, and Clint’s entire body is sore from pure exhaustion. He wants a nap, and now his cheek hurts.

“I need you to stay awake, Barton.” his handler orders, and Clint nods ever so slightly but he knows Coulson catches it. Coulson puts one hand on Clint’s jaw to steady him, and uses the other to take his pulse, all while checking Clint’s pupils. His pupils are dilated to the point where his blue irises are barely visible.

“Eyes on me, kid.” Coulson says and waits a little too long for Clint’s eyes to land on his. They’re unfocused and glassy, and Coulson wait a few more painful seconds before speaking: “Give me your full name.”

“Clint..” he slurs, his body not cooperating the way he wants and tongue feeling heavier than ever. He just wants a nap, why did Coulson have to do this now? “Clinton Francis Bart’n.”

The hand on Clint’s jaw tilts his head backwards and forces Clint’s eyes to meet Coulson's again as they’re about to drift away.  
“Good. And where are we?” Coulson asks, and Clint begins looking around

“No,” Phil scolds and taps his cheek “Don’t look, just tell me. Come on Barton, you know this.” 

“We’re on a mission in Europe.. We’re in-” he coughs, dry and hard, and it feels like sandpaper is scraping against his throat, “We’re in France, near Switzerland.” Clint runs a shaking hand through his messy hair, it’s usual blonde color now stained with dirt and blood. Coulson frowns at that, but Clint doesn’t care and closes his eyes, for a short second.

“No, Clint,” Coulson taps his cheek again and Clint pries his eyes open. “I need you to stay awake.” 

“I’m here, ‘m ‘ere.” he mumbles, trying his best to focus on Coulson “I’m awake.” 

“Hey,” Coulson says, and shifts his hand from Clint’s jaw to his shoulder, his other hand coming up in front of Clint’s head. He flexes his index finger up. “Follow with your eyes.” he orders and moves it through the air, carefully watching Clint’s eyes. Clint tracks the motion, but doesn’t know how much time has passed before Coulson snaps his fingers and Clint blinks. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to zone out, his eyes becoming glassy again. 

“Your concussion is pretty bad, kid.” Coulson says with a sigh. Clint rubs his eyes, both of his hands no longer shaking, but violently trembling all the way down his arms to his shoulders. 

“I can do this.” he says to himself “I can do it. I can stay awake. I can- I can..” his voice trails off, his slurs becoming incoherent mumbles and sounds. Clint whines, something he never would do in front of others. But Coulson is not other people and Clint is tired. He’s exhausted to the point where he doesn’t care about getting nightmares, all he needs is sleep. 

“Just hold on a little longer, Barton.” Coulson says, but his voice is so smooth and Clint just wants to sleep, just for a minute...

 

He feels another sharp sting on his cheek and hear Coulson yell at him. He jerks his eyes open and looks into the eyes of his handler. Just a little longer. He can hold on a little longer.


	2. Smokes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, casual reminder: Don't smoke. It's not cool, and not worth it. It's nasty and unhealthy and expensive. Trust me when I say you're better off with spending your money on cool shit and having healthy lungs.  
> Clint is only smoking in this chapter because he's an idiot (as per) and Nat is just being Nat, which means Russian and cryptic.
> 
> I wrote this in like 30 minutes sooo  
> Warnings: mistakes galore probably, no beta readers, we die like men.

A character who’s scared of sleeping because of his nightmares

\-----

Clint doesn’t know exactly what part of it stops his hands from shaking: the fresh air and familiarity of the roof on the SHIELD base, the nicotine and other stuff he’s heaving into his lungs through his cigarette, or the routine of inhaling, holding, and exhaling, over and over. Maybe it’s a mix between all of those. Probably is. He’s halfway through his cigarette, can feel the warmth of where it’s lit. It leaves an awful taste in his mouth and makes his throat dry. A terrible habit, really, but at least it makes him somewhat calm. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s judging him from behind.

“I thought you said you quit that.” she says, but there’s no accusation in her voice. She closes the distance between them and plops down besides him. Clint is already reaching into his jacket pocket for the rest of the pack and his lighter. 

“I did.” he answers, and he’s being honest. He wants to say that he never really were a regular smoker, but decides against it.

“Good job, then.” she comments with an eyeroll and sarcasm thick in her voice. She accepts the light blue pack of cigarettes and Clint’s lighter anyways when he offers it to her. Clint takes a deep drag while she lights her smoke, the warm happy feeling spreading in his chest. That's probably the chemicals in his brain that makes him feel like that though. He closes his eyes and leans his head back, enjoying the moment before the innevitable-

“So, you wanna tell me why you’re really out here?” She asks. Clint exhales the smoke he’s been holding in, but it feels more like a sigh. Clint’s eyes drop to his shoes immediately to avoid that look from her, he feels can see straight through him. He doesn’t want to talk about this, never does, but she’s not gonna leave this alone. They know each other too well to let the other suffer in silence, not for a lack of trying. Clint just shakes his head. 

“Are the nightmares making a reappearance?” she asks, never been one to proceed cautiously around him. Clint appreciates that she cuts the bullshit. Right now though, he just wants her to stop. He takes another drag of his cigarette and looks at his shoes, looks at the parking lot thirty two floors beneath them, looks at anything but her. He exhales and watches the white smoke disappear into the cold night air.

“Talk to me Clint, Come on.” she tries, but that’s Coulson’s line, that only works with Coulson. It’s his way of somewhat magically getting Clint to loosen his tongue about things he’d rather not mention. Natasha is not Phil. It’s Natasha's turn to sigh and take a drag of her cigarette. 

“You can’t avoid sleep forever.” she continues, apparently not tired of this one sided conversation. Clint often wonders why she puts up with him. “You of all people know that.” 

It takes Clint three more long drags to finish his smoke, and conveniently, three more drags for him to finally talk. He fiddles with the pack of cigarettes as he talks.

“I woke up screaming the day before yesterday. Didn’t sleep until 3 am last night and woke an hour later in cold sweat.” He admits, his voice low, but not exactly a whisper. He doesn’t tell her that the nightmares have been plaguing him for the past two weeks. There are certain things he doesn’t want her to know, and certain things that his pride is too big for. These things often collide. “I don’t know what’s going on Nat, I don’t know what the cause for this is.” he pauses to light another smoke, hoping that it’ll be enough to stop his hands from shaking completely. Natasha waits patiently, looking out at the dark skyline. 

“and I just want to sleep dammit.” he rubs his eyes with a trembling hand, running it through his hair before letting it fall back into his lap. “I’m just- I... I can’t close my eyes without being terrified of what’s coming, Nat.”

The confession is mumbled out, Clint’s tired body catching up with him. Natasha doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to, and puts an around over his broad shoulders. She drags him closer and leans her head on his shoulder, just sitting there. She can’t do anything about the nightmares, but she knows how to make Clint feel safe in the physical world. At least for now.


	3. Sleepy eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one, but one nonetheless  
> warnings: mistakes galore, I wrote this a 2am

Reappearing after having slept for over 24 hours with messy hair, sleepy eyes and bare feet

\-----

The smell of fresh coffee that isn’t the dark disgusting substance from the cafeteria hits him first, and then he sees his agent. Clint is sitting on Coulson’s sofa in his office, systematically cracking his fingers mid-yawn. He looks up when Coulson enters his office, and flashes a short grin at his handler. Coulson looks him up and down, something that has become a habit over their time working together, and accepts what he sees. His agent isn’t injured and seems more content than Coulson has ever seen him. Clint is wearing black sweatpants and a shield tee but has bare feet, his sneakers tossed in the corner of the small space. The usual dark smudges under the younger man’s eyes are a lot less prominent which means that Clint finally got some sleep. It makes Coulson happy to know that Clint has made it through his nightmares for long enough to get some hours.

“Shouldn’t you be in medical right now?” Coulson asks, and Clint chuckles and scratches the back of his neck.

“Probably. Decided to ditch the place after two hours when Wilson counted me stable, and went to crash in my room. Woke up about 20 minutes ago, I’ve slept for like twenty hours.” he answers.

“Hmm. You needed it.” Coulson accepts it with a shrug, and point to the two white coffee cups with green logos standing on the table, “one of those for me?” he asks and Clint nods.

“The one to the left.” Clint answers and stretches his back, his joints softly popping. “Slept for a whole day and I’m still tired, how is that even possible?” he complains and Coulson gives him a fond look from behind his desk.

“Get some coffee and hit the gym, it’ll get you up and running.” Coulson says and opens his laptop.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Clint mumbles as he lays down on the couch, “just gonna get like 20 minutes more though.”


End file.
